“Hello, Bomi.”

“Hello,” the blonde politely greets her psychiatrist back. She settles on the chair comfortably and begins to count the number of rectangular objects there are in the room.

“How’s school?”

“It’s fine,” Bomi simply states. Her gaze flickers to Chorong, who is busy jotting down notes.

It puzzles Bomi that Chorong keeps taking down everything. Even when Bomi refuses to utter a word, Chorong will still jot something in her notebook.

“Just fine?”

Bomi doesn’t answer. Instead, she looks up and stares at the circular window above.

The room they are in is small, but it has a really high ceiling. There is a ladder which leads up to the window. Bomi has always wanted to try climbing up the ladder, but Chorong has never allowed her to, claiming that the ladder is only there for display.

“Have you heard about the story?”

Chorong puts down her pen and cranes her neck to face Bomi. “What story?”

“About the mentally ill patient and his psychiatrist.”

Chorong has sort of an idea with regards to what Bomi is talking about, but she wants the girl to continue talking, so she asks, “Are you willing to enlighten me?”

Bomi nods, and begins, “A psychiatrist brought his patient to a dark room with a window. Something like this room. The psychiatrist turns on his torch, shining it towards the window and asked his patient if he could use the light to crawl up to the window. His patient said no. So he thought his patient was already cured. That was, until his patient said, “What if you switch off the torch while I’m climbing up?””

“So what do you think of the story, Bomi?” Chorong asks as she holds onto her pen once more.

“I think it’s sickening.”

“Why?”

“Why would you mess with an already sick person like that?”

“So you’re saying the psychiatrist did wrong?”

Bomi sighs. “I just don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?”

“The social stigma. The society is such a hypocrite. There’s all these movements and campaigns going around to reduce social stigma towards the mentally ill, but those with psychiatric records can’t even get into certain courses in universities. And what’s more abominable is that it’s the board of educated directors who won’t accept students like me. You would think these educated people will be more…” Bomi pauses as she can’t think of the appropriate word to use. She hates it everytime this happens- knowing that the word is floating around somewhere in her head yet she’s still unable to catch it no matter how hard she wrecks her brain. “Such high IQs people have nowadays, but their EQ stinks worse than my dog’s .”

“Language, Bomi,” Chorong warns her patient.

Bomi shrugs. “Everyone s. I don’t understand why you’re telling me to be careful with my use of language when perfectly normal people curse like there’s no tomorrow. Why the double standards?” she asks, as she continues to search for more rectangular objects to count.

“It’s nothing about double standards, Bomi. Let’s just practise some courtesy, shall we?”

“Tell that to those who’re living without mental issues,” Bomi responds dismissively. “There’s eleven rectangular objects in this room," she adds, frowning. She dislikes odd numbers. It bothers her that she can't find another rectangular object to make the total count an even one. "I think you should start putting in more objects of different shapes.”

Chorong chuckles. How Bomi swiftly changes the subject without even realising it amuses her. “What shapes do you suggest then?”

“Snow angel.”

An unconventional answer.

“Snow angel?”

“Yeah, snow angel. I think that would be nice.” Bomi looks at Chorong and notices the psychiatrist is drinking her cup of coffee. “Coffee contains caffeine and it increases your alertness.”

Chorong puts down her drink and smiles. “Yep, why?”

“Do you have another patient after this?”

“Nope.”

“I see,” Bomi says. She runs a hand along the edge of the desk. “Has a psychiatrist ever been romantically involved with their patient?”

“It’s against the code of conduct.”

“You’re not even answering my question.”

Chorong lets out a sigh. “It’s really rare. Like one or two cases.”

“But in Kill Me Heal Me, the psychiatrist falls in love with her patient.”

“That’s just in dramas, Bomi.”

Bomi purses her lips as her eyebrows bent inward at the same time. “I don’t understand people who criticise a show for being unrealistic. It’s a fiction, for a reason. We watch shows to escape reality, why do you want these dramas or films to mirror reality? Hell, if you love realism so much, go live your own life instead of watching fictitious series.”

Chorong cracks an impressed smile. She loves having such conversations with Bomi. “Well you see, some people prefer these shows to be realistic because they can relate to the difficulties the characters face.”

Bomi keeps quiet for a short moment. “I guess your explanation makes sense.”

“I’m happy to know you accept my explanation.”

“I like the fact that you seek my acknowledgement," Bomi grins. "But I guess the only reason is because you want me to keep coming back right? Since one session is $300."

"I'm not that crazy over money, Bomi."

"You're only saying that because you've accumulated enough wealth."

"A bit more trust and a little less skepticism would help, you know," Chorong tells the blonde.

"Sorry," Bomi says guiltily. "When do you think I'll stop coming here?"

"Until I think you're well enough to not need my services," Chorong responds. She hands a blank piece of paper and pencil to Bomi. "You can do whatever you want with these two items."

Bomi takes the paper and immediately crushes the paper into a ball. She then stabs the pencil into the crumpled paper.

"Someone made you angry in school today?"

"They used to shout my name but now they whisper it." There was sadness in her tone.

"Your peers?"

"Everything."

"Even trees and cars?"

"Yep."

Chorong nods and writes animistic thinking in her notebook.

"Do you always have to write down whatever I say?"

"Of course. I need to record my observations."

"I'm not a specimen that needs to be studied."

"I'm just recording your progress, Bomi."

Bomi glances at her watch. "There's still half an hour left. I want to sleep."

"I'll wake you up when your session ends."

"Thank you."

And with that, Bomi closes her eyes.

"Let's not meet again," Chorong tells the handsome lad standing before her.

"What did I do wrong, Chorong?"

"You did nothing wrong," Chorong sighs. "I just can't reciprocate your feelings."

"It's fine with me, Chorong. Your happiness is my happiness."

Chorong exhales an exasperated sigh. "Stop doing this to me. It's exhausting when you do so much for me yet I don't do the same."

"I don't expect anything in return, Chorong."

"Forget it. I'm just going to head home."

"I'll send you home then."

Chorong shook her head. "No," she says firmly. "I want to be left alone." She walks away, leaving him.

When Chorong reaches the bus stop, she is surprised to find a familiar blonde sitting on the bench. Bomi is murmuring something while staring at the building opposite.

"Good evening, Bomi."

Bomi stops her action and turns to look at Chorong. A wide smile appears on her face. "Good evening!" She pats on the space beside her. "You can sit here."

Chorong does as told. "What are you doing?"

"Counting the windows that that building has," Bomi replies as she points to the opposite building. "There are 23 rectangular tinted windows," she tells Chorong with a hint of irritation.

"Why do you sound annoyed?"

"I don't like prime numbers." Bomi notices Chorong zoning out and gently pokes the latter on her shoulder. "You have love problems?"

"You saw?"

"I happened to catch 7.2 seconds of the scene."

"How do you even count that 0.2 seconds?"

"I'm a straight As student. Of course I love precision," Bomi states proudly. Getting straight As is probably the only thing Bomi thinks she's doing right in life. "So, what's your story?"

"You know that feeling?"

"What?"

"Feeling so eternally grateful towards someone who's willing to go through an extra mile for you, but at the same time regretful because you can't return his feelings?"

"That causes a disequilibrium in the love system."

"Because it isn't mutual."

Bomi nods in agreement. "Because it isn't mutual," she echoes Chorong's statement. She takes out a sweet from her pocket and removes its wrapper. She gives it to Chorong. "Sugar for you," she says with a smile.

"Thank you," Chorong responds, returning a smile, before popping the strawberry flavoured sweet into .

"Do continue."

Chorong takes in a deep breath. "People would accuse me of being an ungrateful brat. You know what they say? Choose someone who loves you more than you love them? But love.. can't be forced can it? If the feeling isn't there, then it isn't. No matter how much one puts an effort. They say your efforts will eventually come to fruition, but sometimes there are certain circumstances that work against that."

A green bus stops, and Bomi studies the facial expressions of the passengers who alighted. When the bus moves off, Bomi speaks, "It must be tiring being a normal being."

"Normal being?"

"Yeah. Mentally healthy people like you," Bomi casually says, "We're all surviving, not living. Do you eat to survive, or survive to eat?"

"Both."

"Boring," Bomi remarks, dragging the 'o' a little longer.

"What's your answer then?"

"I eat when I feel like it and I breathe when I feel like living."

A grim expression flits over Chorong's face. She knows everytime Bomi says such things, it usually means she harbours thoughts of committing suicide. "Bomi, what did you do this time round?"

The blonde stands up and stretches her arms. She yawns and brings a hand to stifle it. "I was thinking, maybe replicating the death of the Camerlengo from Angels and Demons."

"Bomi-"

"Relax," Bomi chuckles, "I was just pulling your leg." She stares at the bright crescent moon in the starless night sky. “Even the moon needs time to be full again, what more a broken heart," she mutters to herself. "See you tomorrow, Dr Park."

“Good afternoon, doctor,” Bomi greets Chorong as she sinks into her seat. She places a stalk of sunflower on the psychiatrist’s desk. “Specially for you.” She flashes a grin.

“Thank you,” Chorong responds, her lips curling up. “What’s the special occasion?”

“I just felt like spending some money today,” Bomi says. She takes a pencil and a blank sheet of paper, and starts doodling. “My peers called me a psychopath again,” she casually informs Chorong.

Chorong is alarmed by the new information. She worries about the things Bomi might have possibly done. “Then what did you do, Bomi?” she cautiously asks.

“Bursting out with angry words is always so much easier than maintaining one’s dignity and self-respect. But, giving no reaction often has the satisfying side effect of further pissing the person off who’s stirring with me. So, I’m not going to stoop that low by reacting to them. Which makes me think about something... Why are foul words created if you’re aware that those words aren’t pleasant to be said to or about someone?”

Chorong bits her lip as she ponders Bomi’s question. “Honestly, I do wonder why too.”

“The world will probably be a boring place if everyone is a good person, don’t you think so?” It was a rhetorical question. Bomi sneaks a glance at the psychiatrist who is furiously penning down whatever words Bomi has said to her.

The blonde inwardly sighs and folds her paper into an airplane. “Hey Mr Airplane,” she utters as she plays with it.

That finally catches the attention of the psychiatrist. “Is there any country you would love to visit, Bomi?”

Bomi stares at the circular window. Her brain is in full gear but she isn’t thinking about which country she wants to visit. “I don’t know if I should be grateful to you for saving me.”

“Did something trigger-”

“My suicidal thoughts?” Bomi smiles weakly. “No.” She throws the paper airplane, and watches it fall onto the ground.

Bomi remembers the time she tried to drown herself in the sea because she couldn’t handle the voices in her head. Auditory hallucinations, as the experts call it. Chorong, coincidentally, happened to be jogging along the stretch of the beach at 5 in the morning, and managed to save the blonde from drowning.

“In my entire life, there’s this blackness creeping into the corners of my life until it turns grey and dirty. My insides are burned out, if you cut me open, all you can find is anger. It follows me everywhere. It sits on my chair. It lies on my bed. It watches me when I sleep. My schoolmates think I’m a psychopath, and I’m outcasted. But how much of what’s wrong with me, that I should take the blame for?” Bomi feels her heart throb like a fresh bruise.

“Bomi-”

“Before I met you, all I hear was shouts ringing in my head,” Bomi interjects. She looks at Chorong, eye to eye. “After I met you, the shouts turn to whispers.”

Chorong remains silent. This time round, she doesn’t write anything.

Bomi takes another fresh sheet of paper and starts folding it into a heart. She takes the pencil once more, and writes something down, before pushing the folded paper heart towards Chorong.

You’re the clarity to my insanity.

Shall we be a rarity?

Chorong looks up to Bomi after reading the note. The blonde gives her a childlike smile, with a glint of mischief in her eyes.

“Would you like to go against the code of conduct, just this once, doctor?”

---

the note bomi wrote to chorong is inspired by lyrics from clarity-zedd. this story is less darker, nevertheless, i hope you readers enjoy it as much. the ending is open-ended, but hey, chomi has never been tragic, has they? plus, the title of this chapter has already given away the ending. anyway, i would totally appreciate it if anyone has answers to the questions bomi had asked chorong. have a good day, people!